The End

“Oy! Adriano!”

I hadn’t made it 50 yards before I heard someone call my name. I was in the middle of a crowd of pilgrims in the plaza, and didn’t see anyone I recognized. I figured it was just a mistake and was going to continue on my way, but then I saw someone working their way through the crowd towards me out of the corner of my eye. I turned to get a better look.

“FERNANDO! You son of a bitch!”

Camino magic. A guy from the original group I had been hiking with at the start just happened to be in the same place at the same as me as I was leaving. Amazing.

“When did you get in?”

“Today. we’re just finishing now.”

“We?! Are all y’all still together?! That’s awesome!”

“No…Eamon got out ahead, but Nick--”

I looked beside Fernando. It was Nick!

“Nick, you Aussie fuck! How you doing man?!”

“Weeel….I ees good, man…”

That wasn’t an Aussie accent by any means. I looked closer at the guy. He had the same build as Nick, sunglasses and beard like Nick, but definitely had a different pack and gear. This guy was NOT Nick.

“Oh…shit. Nevermind. I though you were someone else…”

Fernando laughed

“Yes, yes, that is what I was trying to tell you! Nick took some time off. Padrino wanted to go slower…”

Made sense. That first group was running a killer pace for the first three days. Which was likely a contributing factor to my injury zero day in Pamplona.

“Gotcha…well are you going to Finisterre?”

“Yes. We will go tomorrow”

“Ah! Cool! Bus or walking?”

“Well…I want to walk, but my friends may not want to…”

“I gotcha. Well hey man, I’d love to stick around, but I’m actually on my way to Finisterre right now, You’re welcome to tag along if you want, but I’m guessing you probably wanna stick around Santiago if you just got in….”

“Yes.”

“Well. Plenty of places to stay and good food and whatnot. Congrats, man, and it was awesome to see you! Look me up if you’re ever in the states!”

Fernando nodded and we shook hands.

“Buena suerte.”

“Yeah, you too. Best of luck.”

I turned away from the crowd and continued my walk across the plaza. I then picked up the trail right by the Cathedral, and it began to take me out of the city:

In order to avoid confusion with the Camino de Santiago the Camino de Finisterre uses Yellow “F” markings alongside the yellow arrows for appropriate demarcation.

A welcome addition to navigation…the way some of these other pilgrims are, they might find themselves walking in circles from going the wrong way at intersection points….

The trail itself was beautiful, shady and much less crowded than the Camino de Santiago. A perfect illustration of just how much heart the 100kers have: they’ll do it to get the Compostela, but most of them won’t go a km farther than they have to. Let alone 90 of them.

All in all, the days leading up to the finale were pleasant yet routine hiking. The good weather and less than difficult terrain (aside from one moderate climb) made it a pleasant hike. As did the scenery:

Yet before we knew it, the final day was upon us.

We set out from a town called Olveiroa.

A few kilometers in, we encountered the main split:

The Camino de Finisterre is actually a bit of a misleading name, as it actually splits off into two separate trails: One will take you to Finisterre, and one will take you to a place called Muxia. Both are terminus points for the trail that end at the sea, and it is possible to complete a loop that hits both of them, but Finisterre is more of the “mainstream” end point of the two of them. Needless to say, we all decided to keep on the Finisterre route.

Then, after a few minor hills, we began to go up a fairly steep incline. Near the top was a fairly interesting trail marker:

It didn’t look like any of the others we had seen, and the words “To The End” were painted on rather conspicuously…

To the end. Well. No shit.

After walking past it and to the top of the hill, I immediately began to understand why the marker was there:

That blue in the distance is the sea. Quite a view.

We picked up the pace, coming down off the hills as quick as we could to try to get to the beach. It was a hot day, what we all wanted to do more than anything was hit the sand and relax by the water. Yet the day seemed to drag on and on as the trail kept zig-zagging near small beaches, leading us incredibly close, but then turning us away right as we got near:

 

This continued for several kilometers, until we hit single digit distances...

...and the final hill between us and the beaches at the outskirts of Finisterre.

Coming down off the final hill, there is a point where the road curves:

And then dumps pilgrims right onto the beach:

The trail abruptly turns from paved asphalt to sandy boardwalk, right beside what can best be described as a stone patio. Ronja and I stopped at the patio.

“We made it…”

“Yes…”

I started taking off my boots. I didn’t want to get sand in them, and at this point, it was clear that I didn’t really need them anymore.

“I’m gonna take my stuff down to the beach…”

Ronja collected her gear and headed onto the sand. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to politely give me space to change into swim trunks or something, but I had already planned ahead and was wearing shorts under my hiking pants. Either way, I took the opportunity to change, and quickly did the best I could securing my boots to my pack…

Interesting problem to have….I was an expert at packing the gear I had, but there was NO extra room for my boots in my pack…I ended up tying them to the outside of my pack with para cord. Like a noob hiker.

But then, having changed into my shorts and flip-flops, I made my way down to the beach, stopping halfway to drop my gear next to Ronjas. I took off my flip flops, grabbed my camera, then headed towards the water.

The sand was hard to walk on at first. My feet were in pain, but not from any identifiable cause. Guess they just didn’t like the feel of the sand after walking on hard ground for a little over a month.

I walked maybe a dozen yards further, and the feeling subsided as I walked from dry to wet sand. I stopped to take a picture…

…And then immediately felt the cool water come crashing down onto my feet. I looked down at them and watched the water subside. My feet were wet. From the sea. On the Spanish coast. That I had walked to. From France.

I looked out from where I was standing across the inlet:

That road to the top of the trees is the last of the Camino. Tonight, we’ll all be out there to watch the sunset. We will not need our fully loaded packs, and we won’t have any more hiking to do. There is no more trail. We are done. I am no longer a Pilgrim on a quest to reach the sea. I am a tourist in a beach town.

“Oh! Hey!”

Ronja shouted down at me from her perch atop one of the larger rocks

“It’s Anna’s birthday today! We should do something!”

“Hey, yeah, we totally should.”

“Here, let’s make her a BIG sign in the sand! She’ll see it when she comes down the Camino onto the beach!”

Ronja picked up her walking stick and began writing large letters in the sand. As she moved down the beach, I kept an eye on things and made sure the writing was even and big enough for her to see. Actually came out looking half decent:

Alright. Time to check in to the hostel.

We made our way off of the beach, but not before Ronja made a side trip to a washing station to rinse off:

I suppose that made as much sense as anything else. Even though we didn't really need them, there is zero sense in filling your boots up with sand needlessly. And, once she was done, we headed into the heart of town. Finisterre, although definitely a tourist spot, was still very much a “comfortable” beach town. Not overrun by beachgoers, tourists, souvenir shops, or excessively large hotels, it had a moderately quiet, picturesque, and relaxing atmosphere:

A short walk through town, and we arrived at our hostel, Albergue Do Mar:

Talk about Grade A accommodations at the end of a long trip! It was extremely clean, had comfortable beds (with paired power outlets), blazing fast WiFi, a large communal kitchen/refrigerator, friendly staff, and an OCEAN VIEW BUNKROOM:

All for around 20 Euros a night. Can’t beat it. Best hostel I’ve ever stayed in, hands down.

After getting situated and unpacking our gear, Ronja and I waited on the patio outside of the bunkroom for the others to get in.

Once the rest of or crew arrived, we set off exploring the town, as well as spending some time on the beach:

Later in the day, Matt and I broke off from the group to hopefully find a place selling beachy touristy type stuff (towels, beach balls, boogie boards, goggles) to get stuff to entertain the team while we were killing time for the sun to set. Luckily, we found a place without too much searching.

The place was essentially a beach-themed dollar store. It took us no time at all to find what we came for. Between the both of us, we grabbed a boogie board, some sunglasses, a plastic bucket and shovel set, and a badminton set. We were on our way to the register when I got hit with a crucial part of the agenda I had forgotten up until that point. I turned to Matt.

"Hey, you got something to burn?"

It was Camino (as well as pagan pre-Camino) tradition to burn something on Cape Finisterre itself after the sunset. Purposes and origins of this tradition are unknown, but it is a widely observed part of of the Camino nonetheless.

"No, but if you do I'm sure I could find something!"

"Oh I definitely do. But we need something to start it with. Let's try to find some lighter fluid or something."

We split up and paced the aisles of the shop, looking for anything we could use to start our fire. After about 20 minutes of searching, we both came up empty.

"I don't think we're going to find it, man..."

"Nah, dude. We gotta get SOMETHING to start a fire with. It's tradition. We just gotta."

We searched the aisles again disparagingly, hoping to find something of use.

“Idunno Matt. I mean, I really have no idea where we’re gonna find some kind of lighter fluid and long matches or a bbq lighter ‘round these---“

“—You mean like this?”

I turned towards the end of the aisle. Matt held up a bottle of lighter fluid and a BBQ lighter.

“Ho-lee-shit!”

I ran over to where he was standing

“Well hot damn. Who woulda figured.”

I ran to the counter and hurriedly bought them both.

Alright, let’s get back to the hostel and rally up with the others. It’s almost sunset!

About two hours later, our little band began trekking up the last of the trail toward Finisterre. First along a winding road:

Then through a parking lot:

…And onto a small footpath to the famous Finisterre lighthouse:

Before hitting the final marker of the Camino de Santiago:

And descending out onto the rocky cape to find a spot to sit comfortably and watch the sun set.

From left to right, Ronja, Matt, Anna and Amelie.

"Zee Germans" (Ronja, Anna, and Aemelie) had planned ahead and packed a deliciously simple meal of cold cuts, fresh fruit, bread, wine, chips, and Santiago cake (light yellow cake with powdered sugar and almond extract; a snack we had all acquired a taste for after being on the trail for a while).

 

Meanwhile, I prepped our burn pile:

Insoles from my failed set of Merrils. It’s still sad to think about, even as I write this. Such good boots. Wasted.

We spent the time waiting for sunset with many jokes and talking through shared experiences from the Camino. At one point I turned to Matt and asked him where the greatest country on earth was. His response:

Technically, that IS the direction of both Canada and America. So I guess he’s right either way…

The sunset itself lasted only a few minutes, but it was well worth the wait:

Once the sun sank below the horizon and darkness fell, our crew packed out the remnants of our little picnic, and I dumped the remainder of the water we were carrying on our small fire:

My Prolonged Excursion on the Camino de Santiago had officially come to a close.

Easter Sunday, The Pendulum Swings, and The Great Disbanding

I awoke early the next morning to the incessant sound of church bells. Happy Easter Sunday, pilgrims.

After an incredibly awesome breakfast at the hotel, I headed over to the Pilgrim Office to get my Compostela as early in the day as I could in order to avoid the inevitable mass Exodus of the 100kers.

There are actually two doors one must pass through to get to the Pilgrim Office. One is the main outer door (which feeds in from the street):

And a second inner door, which is the door to the office itself:

Between the two doors is a small courtyard (visible from the first picture), likely used as a buffer space when lines get long. Luckily for me, there was no line at all.

I opened the door and approached the guy at the counter.

“Hello. I just finished the Camino. I’d like a Compostela, please.”

According to Ken, the clerks working the desks at the office are international volunteers. English is your best bet when speaking with them.

“Ah. Yes. Passaporte, please.”

I handed him my pilgrim passport. He unfolded it in its entirety, checking the dates. He paused for a moment when he got to the end, appeared confused, then flipped it over and nodded to himself.

“You come a long way!”

“Yes. St Jean.”

“All on foot?”

“Yes.”

He picked up the stamp from the desk

THUD

KATHUNK

Behold. The sounds of bureaucracy.

He then pulled a fresh Compostela off the stack behind him and began to fill it out.

“And your name is…Ah-dree-ahn?”

He asked, peering at the scrawled name on my passport.

“Yes.”

One of the advantages of my name. It is highly portable across a variety of languages, pronounced differently, but spelled the same in most.

“There you are. Congratulations!”

 

Hadrianum. Huh. I always figured I was more of a “Hadrian” or a “Hadrius”. But alright then.

He handed me the certificate with a protective sleeve. Yet I noticed there was a stack of nice-looking carboard tubes behind him.

“Thank you. Oh, can I get one of those tubes?”

“3 Euro Donation.”

Ha. Sounds about right.

I paid him, then left the office and found a place to sit in the courtyard outside. I purposely didn’t take the time to oogle at my Compostela in the office so as not to take up a counter unnecessarily, but then again, there was no line so that might have been an arbitrary measure:

Passport with stamp, Compostela, and Ornamental Tube.

Well. That’s done. Time to go to church.

I headed back to my hotel room to drop off the stuff and get packed prior to heading out to mass. I knew we’d probably be crunched for time, so I pre-packed my gear as much as I good. Definitely a strange feeling. I could literally look out my window and see the Cathedral, yet I was packing up to get ready to do another 90km to “the end.” A situation unique to the Camino…

I met Ronja, Anna, and Amelie outside the hotel right at 10, then escorted them back inside and up to my room.

“Wow! This is a nice place!”

“Yeeeah…but…eh….”

They all looked at me like I was crazy.

“No, seriously. I guess I just don’t find marble as awesome as most people…I guess I like modern stuff over--”

“--Oh! Are you going to use this? “

Ronja picked up two bottles of the hotel’s Shampoo and Conditioner. I actually had bought my own earlier on and was carrying it in my pack with me. And it was fairly nice stuff.

“No. You can have it.”

“COOL!”

The team spent some time looking around my hotel room and being awed by it's sheer brilliance. Or something. 

"Alright. So. Church then?"

I opened the door to my room, and team slowly exited, still looking around and taking in the scenery as they left. I really didn't understand their fascination, but then again I had walked around the hotel for several hours the day before...

We all headed downstairs and out of the hotel and across the plaza into the Cathedral. It was visually impressive, but not as violently gaudy as St. Peters Basillica.

Main Altar:

Organ:

Confession Row:

Must be expecting a lot of business.

Other rooms:

Restoration Work Still Ongoing (opposite side of the main doors):

The Cathedral also had a very tasteful way of blending modern technology with its historically renaissance interior:

They probably had to have that speaker custom made in that sandstone color or searched high and low to find some paint to match the column. Either way, that likely took some time to sort out.

I found this amusing, too. A statue of St. James riding a horse positioned behind a bed of flowers:

Initially, nothing too suspicious. But if you look closely, something is clearly out of place:

He’s riding over the bodies of slain Moors and murdering those hun bastards by the bushel. But I guess that’s just not a mission the Catholic Church wants to promote right now. After all, it is all about branding.

Yet all of these elements aside, there are two main attractions associated with the Cathedral de Santiago: The tomb of Saint James, and the Botafumeiro.

While the Cathedral de Santiago might be “soft” terminus of the Camino, the main reason for the Camino is St. James himself. Therefore, it only makes sense that pilgrims should go see him as part of their journey:

As you would expect, the tomb is below the altar, reachable via side doors on either side that lead down to a small recessed area. It’s a somber place, but really drives the point of the Camino home.

The Botafumiero, on the other hand, is a much more lighthearted story:

Initially created when the Camino was in its infancy to deal with the stench of unwashed pilgrim masses, the Botafumiero (literally ‘smoke belcher’) is one of the largest if not the largest incense distribution mechanism in the arsenal of the Catholic Church:

An exceptionally large thurible, it is suspended from the ceiling via an elaborate pulley system…..

….And is swung from side to side along the main cross-section of the church during services. But the church doesn't use it for every service…they say it’s difficult to use and expensive to operate. So they reserve using it for special occasions OR a 300 euro donation. Whichever comes first.

But, lucky for us, we were able to hit the Church just in time for Easter. Seeing the botafumiero for us was a welcome inevitability.

After exploring the church and taking our fill of pictures, the group rallied up and found some open seats in the rapidly filling church. It was then that I noticed the artistry of the pews:

Shells had been carved into the armrests. Likely ages ago by the looks of them.

As more people began to take their seats, we were all looking forward to seeing what this whole "pilgrim's mass" was really about. And, as we expected, the mass would begin around 11:00 AM and we would be on our way soon after. But 11:00 AM rolled around, and mass didn't look like it was quite ready. So we waited until 11:15, when we saw an uptick in the activity of the priests, making what we all assumed to be the final preparations before mass. So we waited till 11:30. And we waited till 11:50. And we waited until 12:10. And by then, the Germans were losing their freakin minds.

Well…most of them anyway. Ronja was ok, and so was Amelie, but I get the sense that she’s pretty laid back for a German as it is…

Finally at 12:30, the head honcho priest came out and mass began.

His language of choice was of course Spanish, but there was a part of the mass where he acknowledged the importance of the pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, and expressed true gratitude for our commitment and dedication in its completion. He then read a greeting of sorts in a variety of languages, but he was more mumbling through it them than actually enunciating the words; the best anybody could do was determine that he was indeed speaking their language, but understanding what he said was anybody’s guess.

Then there was the impressive showing of religious force….:

Culminating with the Botafumiero:

I saw this and immediately had to take a picture, as it was truly a site to behold:

It’s a picture of nearly everyone in the church taking a picture of the Botafumiero. It is a cool thing in its own right. But at the end of the day, it’s a pendulum with a smoke grenade in it that they swing back and forth. That’s it. That’s all it does. That’s all it’s ever done. And it’s never going to do anything else. It's not going to play music, shoot lasers, explode, light up, or fly off into space. Yet people freakin love it. And they will flock from anywhere and everywhere to come see it, pilgrim or not.

  

As the fanfare was dying down and the Botafumerio had been wrangled back into its holding posture, we all got the sense that Mass was wrapping up and started making our way out of the church. It wasn’t completely over, but it was already past 1pm, and we weren’t sure what the hotel would do with our packs if they came by and saw that our stuff was still in the room past the deadline. Granted, this was Spain, so probably nothing. But still. We weren’t trying to be those people.

On the way out, Matt looked dismayed.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah…I’m not really religious or anything, but I feel kinda bad leaving before it ends.”

“Dude…we gotta go. It’s after one.”

“Yeah, I know…I just…I feel bad about it, you know?”

“Well…do you want to stay till it’s over”

“No, I know we gotta go…”

I felt bad that Matt wasn’t quite on the level of wanting to leave and we were all trying to get on our way, but sometimes you just have to learn to take yes for an answer…

We left the church and scampered back to the hotel. The packs were all still there. We all did last minute equipment checks/water filling, then made our way back out for final goodbyes.

We found Ken, Karin, and Lotti at the far side of the plaza. No sign of Malcom.

“Hey Ken, where’s Malcom”

“Oh…Idunno. He was at mass, but he might’ve gone back to the hotel and fallen asleep or something. I have no idea where he is.”

Although I only really knew him for a month, it seemed a bit odd for Malcom to miss as big of a moment as this. Our group was breaking up to go our separate ways. I felt like Ken might’ve been covering for him so he wouldn’t have to appear emotionally distraught in front of everyone, but that’s just what best friends are for. I didn’t press the issue.

Once the majority of the group was assembled, Ken made a blanket announcement.

“So anyone who wants to is welcome to get lunch with Karin and Lotti and I. You guys can come and eat and head out after, but if you just wanna hit the trail to Finisterre, no hard feelings.”

Matt and the Germans hadn’t had breakfast, and were pretty hungry by this point. They jumped on the offer. But I was in a mood to hike, so I turned down the offer and started saying my goodbyes…

“Ken Camino….The man, the myth, the legend.”

He gave me a firm handshake and a subtle smile…the kind that you’d expect a Canadian Mountain man to have. Living up to his origins right to the end.

“Buen Camino.”

I then turned to Karin.

“Well partner, it’s been fun…”

“Wait! I have something for you!”

Karin reached into her pocket

“This is a bar of Toberlone chocolate! It’s Swiss! And you can see the mountains on it!”

She pointed the mountains in the Toberlone logo.

“Oh! And this!”

She handed me a Swiss Camino Keychain:

You could find them for many of the nations represented on the Camino and were a common sight in many of the more touristy Camino shops.

“I got this one for you, and I have the American one!”

Well, shit. I hadn’t gotten her anything. But clearly now I have to give her something….huh…

I ran through the list of my gear in my head as quick as I could.

“Ah! Well I have something for you!”

I reached into the side pocket of my pack and produced a small folding blade.

“So I realize it’s a bit rusty around the edges, but this is the small knife I’ve been carrying with me since New Hampshire on my AT hike. It’s gone quite a ways, but since you’re a huge fan of Swiss Army Knives, here’s one for your collection that isn’t even Swiss!”

She took it and began inspecting it closely.

“Cool!”

Karin and I hugged one last time. Then, in the most American way possible, I turned to the group and said

“Welp. I reckon I best be hittin the trail. S’long”

I then tipped my imaginary hat, and began making my way across the plaza back onto the Camino.